


The Throat Ceases To Sing

by Seraphiie



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Basira Hussain is a bit of dick, Beholding Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Blood, Blood and Injury, Bullying, Canon-Typical The Spiral Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical Violence, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Everyone Is Gay, Finally, Found Family, Gertrude Robinson is an abuser, I Will Go Down With This Ship, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, It/Its Pronouns For Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Jon might have an eating disorder, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Gets Therapy, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has a Bad Time, Like, M/M, Manipulation, Mentioned Gertrude Robinson, Mentioned Tape Recorders (The Magnus Archives), Michael has PTSD, Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives) Gets Therapy, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Multi, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like archival assistants, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Reverse psychology, Romantic Soulmates, SO GAY, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Spiral Stockholm Syndrom, Spoilers for Episode: e101 Another Twist (The Magnus Archives), Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 3, Stockholm Syndrome, Tags May Change, The Spiral Fear Domain (The Magnus Archives), The Spiral Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), Therapy By Manipulation, Threats of Violence, Top Michael, Trans Character, Trans Ignorance, Trans Michael Shelley, Transphobia, Unsympathetic Basira Hussain, Very Slight Transphobia, at first, everyone is friends at the end, get fucked gertrude, she can die in a hole, thank fucking god
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27788602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seraphiie/pseuds/Seraphiie
Summary: “I said, archivist, have you met your soulmate?”  it took Jon a minute to process the actual question, rather than the information behind it. And he stiffened, his hands tightening on his empty glass. Michael, sensing that it had hit a sore spot, continued to press.“Well? I cannot imagine your multitude of scars makes your soulmate easy to miss archivist~” it laughed again.~~Jon doesn't have a soulmate, every scar on his body is his own, and he remembers them perfectly. so his soulmate is either dead, or he never had one....but he doesn't have time to focus on it. things are far too busy for him.like the fact that Michael just will not leave him alone.and then....something happens, Michael isn't Michael anymore. and Jon has to stick with it, take care of it, and he can't help but feel, that something is very odd about the fact that all of a sudden. he has scars he never remembers getting.
Relationships: Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Gertrude Robinson & Michael Shelley, Helen | The Distortion & Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Helen | The Distortion & Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives), Helen | The Distortion/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood & Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood & Tim Stoker, Melanie King/Helen Richardson, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael Shelley/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael | The Distortion & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Michael | The Distortion/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	The Throat Ceases To Sing

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter is a bit of a mess, mostly because i started writing it before i knew what i was doing and it was a lot of word vomit. but i tried so there is that.
> 
> *angry mouthing*  
> six thousand fucking words of word vomit!
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

The agonizing scream that filled the room, tearing from Michael’s throat, was far far worse than the throbbing headache of it’s laugh. Jon could only stare at it as the scream went on for first seconds, Michael spasming and shattering in a whorl of colors and fractals that seemed desperate to stay together, then for minutes, to much the same effect. Jon had tears streaming down his face and as the screaming and the shifting went on for one minute, then two, then five, and Jon was brought to his knees, his hands clamped over his ears as he tried desperately to block out the sound of Michael screaming in horrendous pain. He could almost feel it’s agony, the scream echoing and drilling into his skull like a headache.

Jon was curled up on the ground, whimpering as he tried to hold in sobs from how much the screaming alone hurt. He could only imagine the pain spawning those noises. And he was so caught up in the sound around him, that when it stopped….he didn’t notice for a long minute. When he finally raised his head, he stared at what remained of Michael, unsure of what he would find. And even more unsure of what to do.

What he did see however, made him audibly gasp. It was not at all what he had expected. After all of that...he had expected at least pieces of Michael everywhere. But as he got to his feet, taking shuddering breaths and wiping his tear stained face, he came closer to a thing that appeared….to be human.

the-once-was-Michael lay on the floor, it’s face and shoulders hidden by long, blond, tangles of curls that reminded Jon of _Sleeping Beauty_. It’s brightly colored coat hid the rest of it, except it’s hands and feet. And it’s hands...well that was the most different part of all (besides it being human of course), it’s hands were just...normal, if long and thin, hands...almost normal. The tips had no nails, and while they were the normal size and shape, the tips of it’s fingers were angled into a point, almost like the bone had grown out too long and thin and pushed the skin into a claw-like shape.

“Well...that is a surprise…” Jon looked up from the comatose being on the floor, and into the face of Helen Richardson, everything about her(...no...not her….it now….) mimicking the former avatar of the Spiral.

꩜꩜꩜

The Spiral had an odd…obsession was not the right word, no not at all. Obsession would imply that it cared, that it could care. Interest wasn’t the right word either, again interest implied that it did, or even could care. It did neither.

Well, the Spiral certainly didn’t. Michael on the other hand...Michael certainly did. Well not care, for the third time it must be stated, the Spiral did not care, it could not care. And Michael was an extension of the powers of distortion. So Michael did not care. No, not at all. 

But it did have a peculiar investment in Jonathan Sims. and well, even as the various powers inhabiting the world were at each other's throats, the spiral remained fairly neutral. It fed, and it existed. It didn’t particularly care what it’s avatars did when it wasn’t luring food into it’s hollow halls. Then again, as you are surely tired of hearing. It didn’t care about anything beyond its own survival. And as repetitive as it might be to hear it said, it is important you know.

So yes, Michael was fascinated by the archivist. It loved (or did the best it could, akin to loving) watching him squirm in discomfort and sometimes even pain. And despite the constant presence of Beholding, watching and waiting for an opportunity to rid itself of another competitor. The Distortion’s advances stayed tame enough that it certainly felt it had a claim over Jonathan Sims, but not truly enough to anger the Ceaseless Watcher. 

That is where the Spiral’s care ended, where it’s avatars didn’t risk it’s destruction. So Michael was allowed to do as it pleased, to and with the archivist when it had nothing to do except wait for the halls to grow empty once more in a sort of hunger.

And that is what it was doing now, bothering the archivist. Not that it thought of itself as a bother, as much as it thought of itself at all.

The archivist did not agree.

“....” he had tried to ignore it, had tried to get on with his tiring work and the false statements that filled him with an entirely different exhaustion then the true ones. It was far less cathartic then the deep, bone drilling fatigue that filled him after reading through yet another experience with a supernatural being. And it made him irritable, snappish even. It made him want to curl up in a corner somewhere with a coffee or a cigarette and try his best to sleep.

A combination of a huge backlog and Michael were not making any such desires any easier. And he could only be sharp with one of them without being called a lunatic, and he didn’t need any more of that. 

He sat up straighter and shivered, pushing down a low growl as thin, sharp fingers trailed up the back of his neck and up into his messy hair. The graying strands snapping on the unnatural appendages as they were pulled and tugged by the single smooth movement.

“What do you _want_!” Jon snapped, his face twisted into a snarl, he yanked carelessly away from the sharp fingertips and whirled around to face his fellow avatar, too tired and irritated to realize he knew almost exactly what Michael would say.

There was an inhuman laugh, a headache given sound and spiraling downwards to drill into Jon’s brain as it leaned over him slightly. It’s “human” form was already taller than Jon was, but it’s body as it appeared now, large sharp hands and thin frame, dwarfed him, making Jon want to shrink back slightly. But he did not.

“Oh archivist~” It’s mouth stretched into a toothy grin, it’s jagged teeth almost as sharp as it’s fingertips. 

“I do not-”

“-want anything, yeah yeah I know….” Jon hissed, his arms clenched into fists as he stood up, trying to force the distortion back some. All he succeeded in doing was coming nose to nose with it, their faces inches apart. 

“Since you don’t _want_ anything, could you go away? I am trying to work and you being here is incredibly distracting!” Jon found himself regretting his decision to move upwards as Michael’s grinning mouth stretched wider and it’s hand came up to gently grasp his brown cheeks. The razorlike edges of it’s skin digging into his own. 

All it said was one word, it’s voice a honey-like purr that was almost worse than it’s laugh. Jon shivered and could feel the blood dripping down his cheeks as it’s grip got tighter.

“ _No~_ ”

All Jon could do was hiss in irritation and pray that it would let go, since his other option was to yank away, and that would surely scrape his cheeks raw. only...Michael didn’t let go, at least not for a long moment. It’s spiraling and flashing eyes staring into Jon’s, almost making him sick with their spinning.

“Michael….” he gritted his teeth, preparing to pull away and have his cheeks skinned when suddenly he was let go of, and Michael was simply, standing over him, his smile smaller and his eyes narrowed as he smiled. His lips curled in such a way that Jon couldn’t help but to be reminded of a predator, and he shivered.

“Well archivist...didn’t you have work to do?” it laughed again, and Jon scowled, taking a deep breath as he tried to ignore the whining in his head left behind from the Spiral’s laughter. He did this again and again, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths. He was trying to calm down, saturate himself with oxygen and begin again.

Only he was stopped by Michael again, this time however, it’s hands didn’t cut into his skin, instead one of it’s fingers came to rest on his slowly moving chest. Jon held his breath, staring at it in visible confusion before it hummed, and he found his breath being drawn from his lungs without his say so, making him gasp for air and continue his breathing. Michael’s hand didn’t move from his chest.

“How fascinating...how curious….you still breathe…”

“Er...what?” Jon blinked at it from his spot, they hadn’t moved for a long moment before it had spoken, its fingers simply...on Jon. not cutting or poking, just….sitting there. Jon didn’t want to say it was nice, but it was certainly a welcome change. The cuts on his cheek were an easy, stinging reminder that Michael did what it wanted and was unpredictable.

“I said...you still breathe.” it smiled at him, it’s eyes narrowed. 

“I think….that’s rather interesting. Many avatars no longer breathe.”

Jon scowled, moving to a pull away slightly, but a little tap from the Spiral warned him against his unwise decision. And he settled back in place, blinking up at the mesmerized avatar in front of him. His chest rose and fell, at first a little more quickly in panic, but then it slowed, his breathing becoming even.

“What do you mean they don’t breathe?” Jon asked when he felt safe enough to speak up again, his voice rather irritated, this was, after all, a waste of his precious time.

“Of course they do! They are only hu….” he hesitated with that answer. And Michael chuckled, shaking its head. It’s laughter this time hurt so much less than a full laugh. No drills or headache...just a throb in his skull.

“No archivist...not anymore. And so….many do not need to participate in meaningless pastimes...breathing being one of them. Tell me, do I breathe? Did you see the avatar of the lightless flame breathe? Have you ever seen your keeper breathe?”

Jon wanted to respond that “Elias was not his keeper thank you very much.” but something stopped him, more accurately, what Michael had said stopped him. He knew Michael didn’t breathe, that was simple logic. It was the least physically human of them all….but thinking about it...had Jude Perry breathed? Had he _ever_ seen Elias breathe?

Jon couldn’t help thinking about it. Had their humanity so left them that oxygen wasn’t a requirement? Would he reach that point? When? How long did he have left until he was denied the living, human experience of _breathing_. The color drained from his face thinking about it, and Michael pulled away it’s fingers, it’s smile showing off more teeth as it laughed. 

Jon couldn’t even process the momentary headache and dizziness of it’s laugh, he was shaking slightly, his eyes wide as he clung to the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles went white. Every breath, every lungful of air felt so much more meaningful and important. And as the rise and fall of his chest sped up slightly in internal panic, he couldn’t help but feel he was wasting it.

Michael settled back on the desk besides him, sitting and tilting its head to regard Jon’s behavior. Only slightly confused as it’s grin faded into a softer smile and it’s hands folded themselves over it’s lap.

“Did you no appreciate the insight into your own nature archivist? With this path you had chosen...I simply supposed you would want to know what you would become.” This was only a partial truth. It was also rather fun, as much as the Spiral could have fun, to see Jon squirm and panic over his own fragile humanity. Almost...adorable even. 

The thought that Jon was adorable passed through Michael’s head and it didn’t think twice about it, adding the pseudo feeling to the catalogue of being fascinated by the archivist. Another not quite caring feeling.(not that feeling was an accurate word to describe what Michael experienced.)

Jon shivered, his voice cracking as he wrapped his arms around himself and glared at Michael, his grasp and his emotions shaky.

"I…" he sighed, hissing softly at the statements piled in front of him, not a single one of them real, and one of them currently being shredded to perfect spirals by Michael's idle hands. 

"...am far too sober for this right now." Normally Jon would say it was too early to drink. Drinking should be be reserved for the evening _after_ work, not at three in the afternoon. But it seemed that the Spiral had that effect on him, a lot of things did frankly. But this was simply the final nail in a very nail filled coffin.

Michael paused, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes at Jon further as the archivist shuddered once more, and neatly stacked the files he had been about to go through. He held out his hand to the Distortion and was surprised when the shredded paper was placed neatly in his hand with absolutely zero difficulty. The only thing he noticed was the feeling of it’s knife-like fingertips scraping gently at his palm.

“Shall we then archivist?” it’s form flickered and glitched, a kaleidoscope of color and spirals. Before it settled down and slid off the desk. Then standing in front of him was a tall person, dressed in a dull gray sweater, and what appeared to be a deep blue trench coat covered in neon-colored spirals and geometric shapes. And hanging from it’s baggy jeans were many chains and charms. It was wearing the same things it had been wearing before it’s shift, but now the clothes hung on a completely normal, if lanky, human frame.

Jon looked it up and down for a moment, blinking as he took it in. if he looked for too long in one place, the Distortion showed through. A too long and sharp pair of fingers, a colorful whirling eye. The only thing that remained the same, Jon noticed, was it’s long tangles of blonde hair. Curling over it’s shoulders and draping down it’s back. Jon withheld the urge to tangle his hands in the long strands, despite the terror and power he knew surrounded his fellow avatar, it’s hair looked very soft.

Then he processed what it had said. 

“...what..”

Michael smirked, coming closer and putting what looked like a human hand on his shoulder. What if felt like….now that was an entirely different story. But the hard and sharp feeling of it’s hand was not unfamiliar to Jon, if anything it was the opposite, and so it did little to phase him as Michael spoke. 

“You said you are far too sober, and then made to leave….so I am accompanying you.” it’s lips curled further into the smirk and Jon scowled.

“Hell no! I’m leaving to get away from you, and from these stupid statements, you are not coming!” Jon felt like a child throwing a tantrum, demanding that something not happen simply because he didn’t want it to. Although in reality, he had no choice. He knew that if Michael said it was coming with him, it was coming with him. This was exactly right, it pulled away from him and gave his head a little pat before opening the door for Jon to go through. He sighed, and stepped through into the maze of halls before his eyes widened and he whirled around. Realizing too late that this was not the exit he had intended to go through.

“Shit wait!” but the door had shut behind him and Michael’s laughter echoed through his head and the halls in a painful drilling spiral. He shuddered, backing against where the door had been. Only to find that he had backed into….Jon whirled around, his eyes wide and his breathing panicky, only to see Michael laughing. 

“Oh archivist, so worked up over nothing….come along, you are not joining my halls today.” it laughed again and then suddenly was in front of him, humming as it walked down the carpeted hall. It’s form still resembling a human’s, although if Jon looked closely enough, the ripples in it’s reality were easier to see here.

Jon stared after it for a moment, shuddering and swallowing a sigh of relief. He had spent enough time in these halls to last a lifetime, and spending more time within them was not his idea of fun. Shakily he rushed after it, grabbing onto it’s hand for security. He didn’t like it, but it was what he had at the moment, and unless he wanted to devolve into a panicked mess, grabbing onto the Distortion would do. It did help, surprisingly, the sharp edges of it’s fingers cutting into his skin kept him focused on just...keeping pace.

“Oh? Well that _is_ new…” It chuckled again, a toned down version of it’s painful laughter, buzzing into Jon’s skull. 

“Are you so determined to escape alive that you are willingly touching me? Oh poor archivist~”

Jon scowled, but didn’t let go of it’s hand or provide it an answer, and it didn’t push him away. And eventually, after a few moments of silence while they walked, they came to a mirror.

“Now here we are, I selected a location that is fairly close by, and will provide you with drinking of the sort you desire.” 

“Great….can we go… _now_.” Jon ignored how his breathing and voice hitched. And Michael led him through the door. 

They stepped out into a busy bar with a warm and cosy atmosphere. And as Jon looked around, he had to admit that Michael had done a decent job. A drink bar stood in front of a wall of various fancier bottles. And small booths were clustered around the dimmed room, leaving only thin alleys to walk through if you wanted to navigate the tables. No one noticed them enter, and Jon turned around to see that where Michael’s door had been but a moment ago, was now the restroom.

Jon swallowed and turned, ducking in and turning on the sink to rinse his bloody hands and cheeks. To his surprise...Michael stayed patiently outside the door till he came out, and when he did it nodded and smirked,

“Now you are here archivist….”

“Yeah...yeah I am.” he walked up to the bar, leaning on it and huffing in annoyance as the Spiral came up besides him. 

“Do you want anything Michael?”

It gave a soft smile and shook its head, simply sitting on a barstool. 

“No.”   
  


“Great.” Jon turned to the bartender and huffed. “Whiskey please.” he took the glass handed to him and tried to down it, like he had seen in movies, or like he just wanted to get it in his system. It was whiskey of course, so it burned and he choked. Spluttering, coughing, and only getting about half of what was in the glass down his throat.

Michael laughed and Jon’s head spun. 

“Shut up.” he muttered hoarsely, sipping the rest of his drink slowly. He hated that not only was he helpless simply because of the Distortion’s nature, but because...well he felt oddly drawn to it, and despite all of his griping, and even his fear of Michael...he couldn’t bring himself to hate it, or even dislike it enough to actually want it gone...

“Why do you drink something you know burns you, something that you know poisons you and will only do you harm…” it tilted it’s head at him, scraping it’s fingers along the countertop and leaving behind deep rents in the wood. It’s fingertips spreading across the top of it. The marks inexplicable to any who did not know Michael’s true nature. 

“There are already so many things trying to kill you archivist….why add to it?”

Scratch that, Jon thought it was so fucking annoying. He sighed, sipping his drink again and relishing the boiling in his belly as he thought Michael’s question over.

“Because it’s pleasurable?” Jon shrugged. 

“I don’t know, if I drink then I feel less...stressed.” he sighed, hunching over his glass and scowling. 

“In case you haven't noticed, there’s a lot of stress in my life…”

Michael nodded, slowly scraping away at the cuts in the bar until they formed a spiral. 

“I have noticed~” it laughed and Jon groaned, finishing the rest of his drink and then leaning back in his chair.

There was a long silence, although it wasn’t very awkward, the pair simply...sat, enjoying each other’s company. Well, not quite. Michael was incapable of enjoying things, but it did not find their time together unpleasant. Certainly it was easy, Jon was easy to be around for the Spiral. And it liked that, there were questions sure, but no true demands. And not just that Michael had all the power. It was somewhat...nice.

And Michael could not let itself be dragged back into empty feelings and thoughts, there were more important things. So, it turned to Jon, a slow smile curling over it’s lips.

“So….archivist….have you met your soulmate?” it laughed, and Jon immediately stiffened, feeling like it knew something he didn’t.

“What?” even more odd, was that it had….just never asked before. Michael had never shown interest in soulmates, a completely human thing. Jon had just assumed it didn’t even have any knowledge of soulmarks. Although...he realized now that that assumption was foolish. Everyone had a soulmate, and it would be a pretty poor excuse for an observer if it didn’t know about something that had been fundamental to humans since their conception.

“I said, archivist, have you met your soulmate?” it took Jon a minute to process the actual question, rather than the information behind it. And he stiffened, his hands tightening on his empty glass. Michael, sensing that it had hit a sore spot, continued to press.

“Well? I cannot imagine your multitude of scars makes your soulmate easy to miss archivist~” it laughed again.

“Another whiskey please…” Jon muttered to the bartender, getting one almost immediately and starting to sip it. That was just the trouble wasn’t it, Jon’s scars were impossible to miss on another person. And not only had he never seen another person with matching scars…..but he knew for a _fact_ , that every scar decorating his body was his own. He remembered each one in vivid detail, and not one had magically appeared in the night because it was marked on another person.

“They’re dead…” Jon scowled, staring down at his now half empty glass. He had drunk it a lot faster now that he wasn’t trying to. It was a truth he had accepted a long time ago, that he didn’t have one, or that they had died before they had had a chance to meet. 

“Or I don’t have one, I figured which didn’t matter.”

Michael was silent, seeming thoughtful rather than derisive or mocking, almost like it didn’t know what it had thought it knew. It wasn’t...sorry, no. It couldn’t be sorry, it didn’t feel things, but it did feel something….akin to pity. Jon was alone in a world where no one was supposed to be alone.

“Got what you wanted?” Jon scowled at him, having finished his drink quickly and ordering another. Which he knew wasn’t wise, Michael wasn’t going to take care of him, god knows if he would even get home. But the sudden reminder of his soulmate, or his lack thereof, had made him conveniently forget that he was a lightweight.

Michael didn’t answer for a moment before chuckling and shaking its head. 

“No...but it is unimportant.”

“Great.”    
  


They continued sitting in silence for the most part, the occasional conversation drifting between them as the amount Jon had had to drink ramped up. He was solidly drunk now, and Michael just watched in amusement at his….antics….for the lack of a better word. Jon kept ranting about his statements and Gertrude, he was getting _so_ worked up over it...it was almost cute. Again that “feeling” flashed through Michael, and it was filed aside, added to its simple interest in what the archivist did.

The most amusing (and confusing) thing however, was that somehow, between drink five and drink ten, Jon had somehow migrated from his barstool to Michael’s. More accurately Michael’s lap. And the Spiral, despite its objective indifference, was enjoying itself far too much to kick him off. 

“What are you going to do, archivist, now that you have me here?” It broke its own silence, making Jon take a turn with the quiet as it spoke, very curious as to why Jon had ended up in it’s lap. Was he going to try and kill it? That would be irresponsible, and frankly rather stupid of him. Michael knew he wasn’t stupid. So, why then?

“Whaddya mean?” mumbled Jon, blinking blearily and tilting his head up at his fellow avatar. 

“Why...whym’I in your lap? Cuz….cuz…uhhh.” his mind normally raced at a million miles a minute, but now it felt like he was wading through molasses...molasses that made him feel a lot happier and freer than he had in a good long while. He had no idea why he was sitting where he was sitting where he was, but a drowsy warmth was filling his bones and skin. He gave a very un-Jonlike giggle and whined, curling further into the Distortion. 

“Mmm warm…” Michael laughed at that, and Jon whined again, shaking his head in pain. 

“Oh archivist~” it delicately and subconsciously (no, it did not have a subconscious, it was a mimic at best) shifted with him, holding him closer in its arms. 

“I cannot keep you warm archivist, it is not within my nature...I will only drain you of your light and your knowledge.” it laughed again, and didn’t think to be suspicious when it’s painful and drilling sound elicited no reaction from the drunken avatar in Michael’s lap.

“So...why have you decided to place yourself on me, as if I am capable of providing the companionship you seek…” there was no response, and Michael waited mere moments before looking down at its fellow avatar and letting out a little sigh. Oh….the archivist was asleep, passed out from too much poison in his veins. 

“Oh well...this is interesting isn’t it~”

It really was, to it’s sickening sense of humor anyways. If it had what could be called a sense of humor, it enjoyed fear and suffering, feeding on those aspects. And it wasn’t human, it didn’t have room for a true sense of humor. So here, what it found funny, was just how _vulnerable_ the archivist was, Michael’s sharp fingers trailed up Jon’s neck and face, gently threading through his hair and scraping ever so gently at his scalp. All while cradled in its arms.

It could leave him in an alley, to get mugged or violated, it could dump him on a highway and watch as his body convulsed in panic before it was run over. Michael could leave him in the bar, pathetic and passed out for his _soulmate_ to find (why it thought that with as much contempt as it did was anyone's guess). It could press it’s sharp fingers to his skin and slit him, throat to crotch, before watching him drip onto the floor. And there was nothing the archivist could do to stop it, any of it. The Spiral toyed with these ideas each in turn, before it ultimately realized….it didn’t _want_ the archivist dead, not yet anyways. He was still far too important, far too necessary, far too entertaining. And as much as Michael could want anything, it wanted him to remain, for the time being, alive.

It eventually picked the comatose archivist up, cradling him in it’s arms as it carried him through the yellow door. Michael headed down it’s winding halls and hummed, a forgotten tune. And after what could have been weeks, days, hours, or years, emerged back into the archive breakroom. The clock read nine thirty, and thin shafts of velvety darkness wove their way through the room’s artificial lighting.

Michael gently(why so gently? It did not care, could not care...Jon was disposable, a toy…) set its fellow avatar down on the couch. Simply leaving him there before disappearing through it’s mustard colored door, and into it’s empty, and very lonely halls.

꩜꩜꩜

“Wh-what?” Jon looked up at the Spiral’s new face, her (no, it’s) distorted face looking down at Michael and Jon with a tilt of it’s head. 

“Why must you constantly make me repeat myself archivist…” it loomed over them, it’s long and sharp fingers brushing against the golden curls, now splayed out over the floor.

“I said….this is a surprise….it should have died…” Helen tilted its head the other way, before turning to Jon. 

“this is interesting isn’t it archivist? I was going to offer you an escape…” the color drained from Jon’s face, and his eyes widened. He was going to be let out, away from this horrid circus, and something had ruined it..but what? 

“But I am unsure how it will react with my halls….”   
  
“W-wait. Michael? I…” Jon hesitated as Helen pushed the door open further, his gaze flickering between the two. 

“I can’t, I can’t just leave him.” The Spiral sighed, wrinkling it’s nose before nodding.

“no...I suppose you can’t.” 

Jon gently picked up the person laying on the ground, cradling it in his arms. Michael was a bit hard to hold, thanks to how tall it was compared to Jon, but he managed to carry it bridal style, through the door.

Helen and Jon walked in silence for a long while, almost wandering through the halls with the aim to return to the institute….Jon was pretty sure anyways.

“Are you going to kill me?” Jon didn’t look at the new avatar of the Spiral, focusing on staring ahead to find the proper mirror with their exit.

“No.” it now lacked the sort of flirt and flair that Michael had had. Helen was more somber, more purposeful. It was the Distortion now, but it was not the same distortion.

“Oh…” Jon couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. “Why not?”

“Because Michael wanted to kill you, in an act of confusion and defiance masquerading as revenge. It felt things that it was not supposed to feel, was not capable of feeling.” Jon blinked, looking up at Helen and almost missed a step. As he stumbled a minute, then recovered, he could have sworn he saw a sad smile on its face.

“And so it came here to kill you, to rid itself of those pesky little emotions and only ended up putting the final nail in its coffin. Tearing itself apart in a feeble attempt to survive and keep the only identity it still has.” Helen laughed, a very similar, yet also different to Michael’s laugh. It still echoed and throbbed within Jon’s skull, but instead of a pain drilling deep into him, it was a pain that spread over his surface. And prickled little bits of static into his skin.

“Oh...why...what feelings?” he tilted his head back up Helen, frowning in confusion and shivering. As he asked, something odd came over him, a hunger, a desire for more knowledge, and a feeling that his hands were slipping into the thread of that knowledge, untangling it.

But the feeling didn’t last long, and Helen froze. Lightning fast it turned around and it’s fingers pierced the surface of his cheeks, little beads of blood welling up under its knifelike appendages.

“Do _not_ , try to compel me archivist, the next time you do, it will be your end.” it’s spiralling eyes whirled around in what could be called fury by a limited tongue. Jon froze, not moving and staring in terror up at the distortion. Okay, okay, Helen was different then Michael….very different.

“Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly, wincing in pain. “Yeah, I do...I’m sorry, it wasn’t on purpose…” this...compelling thing was still new to him.

“Either way, do not, ever again.” and then, Helen pulled it’s hands away, and kept walking. A little faster then before. Jon hurried to catch up, subconsciously cradling Michael closer to himself as he wiped the blood from his cheeks.

After a few more minutes (or was it a few more hours), they came to an empty mirror. A silver pane in the wall that reflected nothing but the halls around it. It was odd to see, if it were not for the faint ripples in the silver surface, Jon might have assumed it was a painting.

“There you go archivist. Leave my halls and pray you do not enter them again.” Helen gestured to the mirror, and Jon stepped through without hesitation. He looked around as he came out the mustard-colored door with a soft click. And when he closed it, coming into the archive’s breakroom, the door vanished behind him.

“Jon?!” he froze, looking around wildly and seeing Martin, right there, a cup of tea in his hands and staring at him in horror. Oh…..he had honestly not thought that he would be let out around others. But then again, Helen did not seem to have the same possessiveness as Michael did, the Michael currently curled in his arms. He sighed, gently setting the former avatar on the couch. It’s blond curls settling around it’s shoulders and head like a pillow as its head rested against the arm of the couch.

“Jon!” Martin’s voice came more insistently this time, placing a hand on the archivist’s shoulder.

“Did you..did you just come out of the Spiral’s door? And...with the Spiral?!” Jon blinked at him as he spoke, processing his words. He was so tired, sleeping bound to a chair was not very comfortable. 

“Er yeah….”

Martin blinked at Jon, clearly waiting for more than just a “yeah”, but when he didn’t get one he began to sputter. “B-but why? He, it’s trying to kill you! And it tried to kill us and oh my god Jon _where_ did you come from? Did it hurt you? Why is it out of the door why is it _unconscious_! did you kill-”

Jon held up a hand, sighing softly and shaking his head.

“I will explain everything in time Martin, but for now. I need rest, it has been...an emotional kidnapping to say the least.”

“YOU WERE KIDNAPPED?!” Martin’s eyes widened and Jon winced at the high pitch in his voice. The silence after that, was awkward to say the least, and Jon felt something snap inside him, boiling over with rage.

“You….you didn’t know….” Jon came closer to him, his voice dangerously quiet as that same feeling filled him. Like if he wanted to, he could dig his fingers into the threads of knowledge wrapped through Martin’s brain and untangle him.

“I...n-no I didn’t, Jon i’m sorry…” Martin looked up at him, afraid of the look in his eyes and backing up a few steps.

“No….” the feeling faded, there was nothing there, nothing he could take, nothing he could learn. Martin hadn’t known, he doubted Tim knew, and he doubted Melanie knew even more. Elias though...oh he was sure Elias had known.

“It’s….it’s fine.” Jon sighed, the look in his eyes dying and being replaced with fatigue. He was going to get answers, he had been kidnapped and Elias knew and he wasn’t going to get away with his "find everything out for yourself" nonsense. Jon was done.

“You didn’t know, I’m not surprised, not anymore.”

“Jon…” Martin came up to him. “Are you...alright?

Jon hesitated a moment. He was the furthest thing from alright. He was tired, and sore, and scared, and now….now he had another person to take care of. He had to move away from Georgie, it wasn’t safe for her anymore, and….no, he would not let the remnants of the Distortion live within her home.

“Watch Michael.” he decided against answering, clenching his fists and turning on his heel towards the door.

“M-Me?! But I-” Martin followed after him for a moment, clearly very nervous about this. About keeping an eye on the Spiral. Could such a thing even be done? Had Jon been taken by it? Were they all going to die?

“Yes Martin. You.” he sighed, looking back at his assistant, the fire in his eyes raging and unquenched by his exhaustion.

“I need to talk to Elias.” 

And with that, he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> title: Arms Tonite - Mother Mother


End file.
